His voice is deceptively soft, but his gaze is sharp. This is totally unlike Caleb. He’s normally easygoing and casual. Laughing and joking and always saying something inappropriate.
This version of Caleb? Is making me nervous.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“We’ve been hanging out a lot,” he says, taking the now empty can from me and setting it on the counter behind him. “All summer. We’re friends, right, Gracie?”
I nod, unable to look away from him. Wondering what sort of spell he’s trying to place on me. He’s acting different. All traces of good-time Caleb are long gone.
“I consider you a friend,” he continues. “And I don’t make friends with women. Just ask my mom. She’ll confirm that little fact.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Right, like she said earlier.”
He nods. “That I even mention my mom to you makes this—you—different. I don’t do this sort of thing, you know.”
I frown. “Do what?”
“Hang out with girls on a regular basis. Tell my mom about them. You’re the first.” He reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
I shiver from his touch, mentally telling myself to calm down. “Isn’t it kind of nice, having a woman as a friend?”
“It’s more than nice, G. And I can’t help but think I want more than just friendship from you.” He takes a deep breath, a faint smile curling his perfect lips as he leans against the kitchen counter behind him. “But I always think that when it comes to you.”
I’m quiet, my voice leaving me. How do I answer him? What do I say?
“I call this the cock-block summer,” he continues, chuckling softly. “You’ve been throwing up blocks left and right. All summer long. I normally give up by now. Hell, I would’ve given up at the first block.”
I’m dying to ask him why he hasn’t given up on me, but I keep my mouth shut.
“But there’s something about you that I can’t give up on, G. No matter how hard I try.” He grabs my hand and pulls me into him, so I’m standing in between his spread feet. “I can’t quit you.”
“That sounds like a line from a cheesy country song,” I say, hating how shaky my voice sounds.
“Here’s the thing—I mean everything I’m saying. I don’t go shopping at the mall with chicks. I don’t commute with them to work. I don’t buy tampons for them at the store either,” he says with a faint grimace.
Oh right. He was at Walmart last week and I asked him to pick me up some tampons. It didn’t even faze him.
“That’s what friends do.”
He settles his hands on my waist, as if he’s testing me. Testing how they fit on my skin. As if he’s testing how we fit together. “So tired of the friend shit, G. You know it’s bullshit.”
“What do you want from me, Caleb?” I ask, my voice so soft, I almost can’t hear myself.
“You really want to know?” He raises a single brow, tipping his head forward, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead.
Ugh. He’s so, so cute. Attractive. Sexy. I’ve been drawn to him since the first time I met him. Even when he was a complete dickhead screaming about the Bee Gees while hanging out of Tony’s car in front of Strummers. He still made me laugh.
And I’m a sucker for a guy who can make me laugh. It’s a total weakness of mine. There are way too many serious men out there. Shouldn’t life be fun?
I get the feeling that life would always be fun with Caleb.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Tell me.”
“This,” he whispers.
Just before he dips his head, his mouth landing on mine.
Fifteen